A Hunter with a Shield
by ThomE.Gemcity-06
Summary: A THE HUNTER OF THE REALM fic. Season 1 spoilers. The Winchesters have been serving the Starks for hundreds of years, always personal-guard to the Lord of Winterfell. But when Lord Eddard assigns Dean Winchester as shield to both Jon and Robb, the Winchester takes a more personal roll in the Jon's life, helping the boy pave the way to his future.


**a/n: A fic from THE HUNTER OF THE REALM Universe. Includes: slight season one spoilers, light swearing, light nudity, light swordplay.**

**Enjoy!**

**Fic Summary: **_The Winchesters have been serving the Starks for hundreds of years, always personal-guard to the Lord of Winterfell. But when Lord Eddard assigns Dean Winchester as shield to both Jon and Robb, the Winchester takes a more personal roll in the Jon's life, helping the boy pave the way to his future._

**The character ages are as listed:**  
><strong>Robb - 17<strong>  
><strong>Jon - 17<strong>  
><strong>Sansa - 13<strong>  
><strong>Arya - 12<strong>  
><strong>Bran - 10<strong>  
><strong>Rickon - 8<strong>  
><strong>-<strong>  
><strong>Theon - 19<strong>  
><strong>-<strong>  
><strong>Dean - 19<strong>  
><strong>Sammy - 13<strong>  
><strong>-<strong>  
><strong>-<strong>  
><strong>********Gameof/Thrones**********  
><strong>*<strong>  
><strong>********SuperNatural**********

_One-shot: _—  
><strong>The Hunter With A Shield<strong>

Jon had always known that being a bastard meant that he would never truly belong anywhere. It didn't matter that his father was a Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, because his mother had been whoever she had been and hadn't been Lady Catelyn, so he would forever be a bastard in the eyes of every man and woman—his name declared it so. Jon Snow. Just as it did not matter that his father had named him for his friend Lord Jon Arryn. His name was Snow, and he was a bastard boy in Winterfell, never to be a Stark or Lord of Anything.

Nothing drove this home into his heart more than when the King of Westeros, King Robert Baratheon and his royal family came to visit Winterfell to ask Ned to be the Hand of the King after Lord Arryn's death. Lady Catelyn had made it very clear to him that he was to stay away from the royal family and their escort or there would be more hell to pay than that she already allowed to him. It was an insult for him to speak with them, be in the same room as them, eat at the same table as them.

Jon did as the Lady bid him, taking her verbal assaults silently as he always did and stayed away. He became like Ghost in this aspect, quiet and watching. He loved the Starks; his father, Robb and Arya, Bran, Rickon even Sansa who treated him no better than a lice-infested interloper; Maester Luwin treated him better than he treated Theon, who ignored him completely; but even that was better than the way that Lady Catelyn treated him. She treated him with such a cold contempt that when Jon was younger made him scared of her, of course, she still caused that little flicker inside of him when they came into each other's company, but now that he was older, he dealt with the feelings of worthlessness that she caused inside of him better.

So when there was a big feast in the Great Hall to welcome proper the King to Winterfell, he was not to attend but stood at the back of the crowd to watch them proceed into the Great Hall, staring with a look of concealed disgust.

He spotted Winchester on the other side of the crowd as Theon and his Uncle Benjen of the Night's Watch were the last to enter, but the young man was not watching the procession, or entering the Great Hall after Robb as his half-brother's personal guard like he might have done, but had spotted Jon and was looking back.

Jon turned away. He did not want to deal with Dean Winchester right this moment. The older boy never seemed to let up, but Jon could never seem to shake him. Dean was the best after all, the second-to-last Winchester in Winterfell. The Winchesters had always served the Starks, since the very beginning. They were the most skilled fighters and personal guards to the Lord Starks, it was because of the Winchesters' skills with a sword and presence, that some of the Starks had survived their wars as long as they did. It had been Dean's father who had paid his own life to save Ned's in the war that made Robert Baratheon King.

In another year, Dean would be made knight under Lord Eddard's word and House, but since they were boys it was ruled that Dean would become Robb's personal guard, and his little brother Sammy who was Ned's ward, would become Robb's squire. But Ned had also decreed, much to everyone's shock—and Catelyn's fury—that Dean would also be shield to Jon, his bastard son.

Jon had never been sure how he ever felt about that decision—maybe grateful and maybe something else—but Lady Catelyn knew sure well how she felt about it and wasn't afraid to express it. Robb was heir to Winterfell, he was to become Lord if ever Ned passed, he was a Stark, he was important; Jon was just a bastard that had no standing, would become Lord of Nothing, and would not be missed—it was Robb who needed a personal guard. But Ned never changed his mind, Robb didn't seem to mind either because Theon was always around anyways, and Dean never seemed stressed or tired at having to constantly split his time between the Stark and the Snow.

With Ghost silently shadowing him, Jon left the castle walls that seemed rather close and suffocating in cool night with not a word of protest from the sentries standing guard at the castle's gate, and took a deep breath of chilly air that stole away the caged feeling. He continued on, the moonlight his torch, walking along the outer wall of the castle. If he had a horse, he might have rode the two miles out to the wolfswood, but after circling the castle once, he wound his way to the godswood.

When Jon stepped into the darkened grove, Ghost silently brush against his legs, telling him that he was not alone before vanishing into the shadows. He was still, unsure how to proceed. If there was another in the godswood in contemplation he did not want to disturb them, it was a great insult. He was a bastard, so his wants did not matter as much as any others, in peoples eyes he was considered lower than a craven, which was one of the worst insults a man could call another.

Jon gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, these overwhelming feelings that made him feel like he was in darkness... being with Robb and Arya, who treated him like a person, like a brother, always lightened the feelings, and he was a frequent visitor of the godswood which helped him process and deal with them—and he was feeling them strongly right now, the Baratheons and Lannisters pulling at his hatred and anger. But he made himself turn away anyways.

"No need to turn away, my son." A deep and cracked voice that he did not recognize permeated the silence. Jon started, spinning back around.

"I-I am sorry, I did not mean to disturb you. I'll just be leaving." Jon stammered.

"No. The godswood is not for just one man, the Old Gods look after us all. Come closer."

Jon swallowed nervously and walked deeper into the grove, passing great oaks and ironwoods. Despite the dense foliage, the moon's light over head shone clearly through the gaps, lighting his path. He came out in the center of the grove where the weirwood stood, the heart tree; bone white, with leaves like dark blood, a face carved in the trunk long ago by the children of the forest. It stood brooding over a still pool where the waters were dark and cold.

There was a man sitting hunched on a moss-covered stone in front of the heart tree, his back to Jon, clad in a simple brown linen cloak. Jon stopped at the edge of the pool, unsure how to proceed or whether to stay quiet or if he should speak. The decision was taken from him when the man spoke again.

"Are you troubled deeply, boy? To come out here so late into the night, alone with nothing but your boiling feelings and a ghost at your side. No need to answer, it's not for me to know or ask."

"Then why did you?" Jon found himself asking.

"Just one conversation can make a man less lonely." He slowly stood up from his place on the rock.

"And did it?"

The man turned and straightened out his shoulders as he reached up and flung back his cloak's hood, revealing the man's face. "You always make me feel less lonely, Jon."

Jon felt many emotions sweep through him, most prominent was anger, embarrassment. "Dean! What is wrong with you?" he demanded. "How could you pretend to be someone your not in the godswood—just to embarrass me?"

"Jon, do you honestly think I came here in the dead of the night during the King's feast and waiting on the chance that you would come by just so I could make a jest?" Dean as the younger boy seriously.

"Yes!" Jon glared. "I know you and this is just the that you would do. Why aren't you with Robb? You should be at the Great Hall, not mocking me."

"So full of yourself, aren't you, Lord Snow? Robb is surrounded by Stark-men, he'll be fine. And I was here long before you were, you interrupted me, remember? Everything I said was true, so get over yourself, you're so transparent."

"Why don't you just leave me alone?" Jon said, ignoring all else that the shield has said, he didn't want to think about whether or not what Dean had been saying was true or not.

"You're angry." Dean noted.

"You just noticed?" his tone was rather sarcastic.

"No, I didn't—I just chose this time to comment on it." He crossed his arms over his chest, looking that dark-haired boy up and down. "You're angry, but not as much at me as you are at yourself and the royal family."

Jon gritted his teeth silently. He _was_ angry with himself—for falling for Dean's charade—he felt like a right fool. Dean stepped up to him and before Jon could back away, the young man already put an arm around his fur-clad shoulders, holding him firm.

"What are you doing?" Jon tried to pull from his grasp but couldn't seem to manage it as Dean starting to lead him out of the godswood. "Let go!"

"Jon," Dean sighed, keeping on. "You're so uptight."

"What! What is that supposed to mean?"

"You take everything so seriously." They stepped from the godswood.

"Maybe _you're_ the one who should take things seriously, Dean. You're going to be a _knight _for gods sake, you should take your _duty _more _seriously _and _stay _by _Robb's _side."

Dean halted, tense, his arm around Jon's shoulder tightening for a brief moment. Jon grimaced, holding completely still, dread creeping into him as Dean stayed still and quite in the narrow stone passage. One thing that everyone knew about the Winchesters was that they took their duties very seriously. If they weren't Northerners, the Winchesters would have been Tullys with their words of _Family, Duty, Honour, _because that was the best way to describe Dean in the simplest terms.

"Dean," Jon started, hoping to undo the insult.

"I _do_ my duty, Jon." His voice was low and intense. "I am the shield of protection to Lord Eddard's eldest son_s_. If need be, I will give my life to save Robb, I will meet with the Old Gods to save _you._ I give my life for your lives. This is my honour, my duty, my family." He started walking again, their path lit by flaming torches, his hold around Jon's shoulders loosened but still present—but this time Jon came along willingly. "I do feel regret about what happened in the godswood, Jon, if it upset you, but aren't we close enough that we can be true with each other?"

Jon wasn't sure what to say. He didn't think he was close to anyone other than Robb and Arya; Robb because they were raised together, of the same age, were brothers, respected each other and got on; Arya because she was sort of an outcast like he was, wasn't afraid to tell people what-was-what, and defended her beliefs with fire, a she-wolf unto herself. Dean—he'd always seen Dean around Winterfell, the young man had been as constant as Maester Luwin—there from the start. He thought back to all the times in his life that he had talked to Dean, interacted with him—they were constant and many.

While Dean had a very humour-oriented personality, but he was a serious and dedicated person, he was very skilled in any weapon you handed him, was very smart in battle strategy, and philosophical if you had to get right down to it.

Sometimes—no, most times—Dean spoke to him without a filter, saying whatever, whenever, things that Jon would rather not think about or realize but the shield would just keep on. Dean was persistent, and while that was good in battle, Jon might prefer it if the young man found some other soundboard.

"I guess," Jon mumbled finally.

Dean flashed a grin at him. "Are you still angry? Want to lash out?"

"I'm a bastard, I'm not allowed to lash out." He muttered.

"I won't tell anybody." Dean pulled them to a stop, and when Jon looked around he realized that the shield had taken him to a small roofed storage yard that had held all the food for the King's welcome feast, but was now empty.

"Why are we here?" Jon wondered.

"Lashing out," Dean said, finally letting go of the younger boy's shoulders. He threw back his cloak and Jon took a step back in surprise as there was a hiss and Dean's long sword singed from its sheath on his belt.

"W-what are you doing?" His hand automatically went to the short sword on his own leather belt.

Dean smiled, but it seemed to lack humour. "Lashing out." He took up a swordsman's stance. "Come on, Jon, are you going to gain a few scars without a fight?"

"Dean..." Jon said slowly, his dark eyes narrowed and his grip tightening over his hilt. Dean's sword moved an inch and Jon unsheathed his sword. "Lashing out—"

Dean thrusted his sword, Jon side-stepped, his guard snapping up, no more playing around. Snow adopted the same stance by marginally different due to their training, swords and body. The circled each other, ever moving, waiting to see who would make the next move.

Jon did in a sideswipe and Dean blocked with a clash of metal, hitting back with a sideswipe of his own. Jon almost didn't block in, Dean's blade slicing down his blade with sparks, nearly slicing his foot. Jon was wide-eyed, his breath leaving him from the power behind each continuous blow, driving him backward.

"Come on, Jon. Lash out!" Dean called, a smirk playing across his lips. A flash of anger went through Jon and as Dean drew back for another strike, he made a slash at the shield's torso of his own. "Whoa!" Dean sucked in a gut, making a 'u' with his body as he jumped back, almost getting the once-in-a-life-time sight of seeing his own insides.

Jon pressed his advantage as Dean righted himself, striking blow after blow. Dean blocked each one expertly, staying his place, not budging an inch. Jon wasn't consistent either, he came from every direction he could manage, his breath coming in gasps at the power he was putting behind each blow—the anger that had building since the arrival of the royal family.

Jon swung his short sword two handed in a over-head stroke—remembering Lady Catelyn treating him like a leper, like if he went near the King's children he would infect them with his baseborn-ness, his bastardry—and the anger inside of him burst out hard and powerful.

"**Aargh**!"

Dean did a summersault as the blade sliced where he had been just a moment ago, the sword gouging deep into the packed dirt ground. Jon grunted at the impact, gasping. He spun around to the shield behind him, waiting for the next blow to come.

The long blade flashed, flickering in the torch light as it came speeding towards his face. Jon could do nothing but stare wide-eyed as death came to take his head, his heart in his throat. He made not a sound as the blade touched the side of his neck, hard and cold, the flat edge pressed to the exposed flesh—and he continued to breath, his heart hammering in his chest.

"I have your head, Lord Snow." Dean chuckled and took his blade back again, sliding it back smoothly into its sheath.

With shaking fingers Jon returned his own blade home after wiping of the dirt from its blade. His heart was hammering, his breath fast as the excitement of the fight flowed through him and near death had claimed him. "You could have chopped my head off!"

"Don't exaggerate." Dean waved his concerns away and put an arm around the younger boy's shoulders, giving them a little shake. "It was just play, Jon. You were having fun, admit it—until you lost anyways."

Jon glared over at him. "That's not true!"

"Oh, so you did enjoy yourself? I told you!" Dean clapped him on his fur-clad shoulder and started to back away towards the yard's only passage. "Lashed out, are you? Get some sleep, Jon, it's a big couple of days for everyone." He opened his arms wide, his brown cloak flapping around him before he spun on his heel and disappeared into the shadow of the narrow passageway, leaving Jon alone.

He did feel all 'lashed-out', all the anger and resentment he had been feeling throughout the day seemed to have drained from him with each swing of his sword. Dean had helped him. Had the Wall melted? Had the Old Gods grown young again? Jon groaned and rubbed a hand over his face and through his thick dark curls. Dean had helped him.

**xHx**

Jon sat alone on the sill in one of the windows of the covered bridge that over-looked the practise yard, one leg drawn languidly to his chin. He sighed as he watched Bran and Prince Tommen 'duke-it-out', both young boys handling padded practice swords. He was reminded of the pervious night when he and Dean had a small fight of their own. He had known that Dean had just been playing because if he really meant business, he would have finished Jon with the first blow. As it was, Jon would admit that he felt better afterwards, all his boiling emotions inside cooling down to a simmer—it had actually been fun (he was reluctant to admit that though).

Maybe he and Dean really were close enough to do things like that. Jon wasn't sure what he felt about that, but he knew he probably shouldn't hold it too close—he was just a bastard after all.

"Why aren't you in the yard?" Jon asked as the personal-guard appeared be hind him with hardly more noise than Ghost would have done, but he knew he was there anyway.

"Why? Do you think Robb needs protecting from the _prince_?"

Jon looked back out the window through the yard to where Theon was struggling to holding Robb back from Joffrey as the young Stark spat curses at him. "No," he gave a small smile.

"Theon seems to have it in hand." Dean leaned against the edge of the window next to Jon.

"Maybe, but it sure looks like he could use one more."

"Ha! Want to go down and lend it to him?"

Jon shot a dark glance at the shield. "Not now, not ever." He turned back to gaze out the window with a narrowed gaze with hardly concealed loathing. Last night the feelings had lessoned, but when he woke up with the rising sun and lay in his bedchamber's buried under furs and thought about what this day might entail, it had all come back to him.

Dean's own gaze narrowed as he looked from the blond boy in the yard to the second based under his protection. "My father died fighting alongside Lord Eddard fighting King Robert's war as my mother bleed out borning my brother alone—do you not believe that I hate them as you do?" he spat in anger.

"No, I don't doubt your feelings." Jon told him. "But we hate them for different reasons."

"Ah, of course." Dean murmured in derision, looking out the window, but not at Robb as he fumed, but at the sky. "You hate because you are a _bastard_"—Jon looked at him sharply—"and I hate because of my lost family." He looked at the dark-haired boy. "Things that may not be unfounded, but useless nonetheless."

Jon's brown eyes narrowed. "We are not speaking of this again." He turned on the sill of the window and got to his feet.

Dean stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "You are such a coward, Jon."

"Don't make me sick Ghost on you." He growled.

"You know I'm not afraid of your pup."

"He's a direwolf, and I've warned you many times that you are stupid not to."

"Fine, so I'm stupid, but in this you know I'm right in this."

Jon gritted his teeth, "Move."

Dean gave snappy smile. "Why is it that you always make me speak of these things?"

"You are the one who always talks, you never seem to stop."

"Your are right. You are a bastard and I am a shield. Both are taught to be silent." Dean stepped aside. "Go on then, go be silent. But think on this, Snow... Out of sight sometimes really means out of mind."

Jon said nothing more as he stepped passed Dean and disappeared down the stone stair. What could the personal shield possibly mean by that? What was he suggesting?

"Jon!"

Jon came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs and turned to find his Uncle, clad now and always in black. "Uncle!" Jon called back happily. He had only been able to glimpse the man briefly since he arrived late last night, not able to talk with him until now.

Benjen Stark smiled, finally able to see his nephew on his visit to Winterfell. "You've grown since I've last seen you." He put a hand on the young boy's shoulder and looked him over wearing a drab of dark clothing that was similar to his own.

"I've been constantly keeping up with my swordsmanship," Jon said proudly. "I practice everyday!"

"That's good to hear. But not today?" Benjen wondered, able to hear the grunts from the practice yard that lay through the short arched way under the covered bridge.

Jon face hardened at little. "The princes are sword playing with Robb and Bran right now—no bastards allowed."

"Well, that's too bad, Jon. It's their loss."

"How are things on the Wall?" Jon asked, wanting to change the subject, and also really curious. Every time Uncle Benjen visited Winterfell Jon never missed a chance to ask him about the Wall.

Benjen smiled. "Cold, as always, makes this place seem like the summer in the South. Direwolves are always howling in the Beyond, Ghost could make some new friends."

Jon chuckled. "Ghost never makes a sound."

Benjen's smiled seemed to sadden. "Jon, have you cons—"

"Whoa!" Dean stopped so sudden that he nearly crashed into Jon standing at the bottom of the steps anyways.

Jon quickly stepped aside and stood next to his uncle. "Sorry,"

"Hey, Benjen." Dead nodded to the older Stark. "It's been a while."

"Dean," Benjen gave the young man a nod in return. "Save any lives lately?"

"Hah." Dean shot a grin at Jon. "Speak for yourself, Ben, it's slow coming around here. What about you? Are those a few grey hairs I'm seeing?"

"Don't be a smartass, kid." Benjen chuckled nonetheless. "The white of the Beyond leeches my colour."

"I'm sure it does."

Jon watched the two of them banter like they were old drinking buddies; he didn't even know that they knew each other, least of all this well.

"Anyways, aren't there lords you should be babysitting?"

"Your nephews, you mean. But yes, I should be off." Dean said. "It was a laugh seeing you, as always, Benjen. Come find me before you leave? See ya, Jon." He shook Benjen's hand before leaving.

Jon looked after him and before the shield disappeared from sight, he looked behind him and gave Jon a pointed look. Jon wasn't sure what he was supposed to take away from that so he chose to ignore it for the moment and turned back to his uncle. "I didn't know you knew Dean."

"Oh, yeah, I know that smartass. Cocky ass." Benjen was shaking his head but smiling. "He's a couple years older than you and Robb, so I knew him before you were born. Even as a little baby, younger than Rickon, after his John Winchester was killed, when I came to visit from the Wall, he'd always escape from him septa and find me, challenge me to a sword fight. I denied him, of course, he was just a little babe, but he wouldn't have it. He swung his short sword at me—I still don't know how he got it, let along hold the thing or swing it—but he did. Cut me too, Maester Luwin had to stitch up my thigh with silk. Next time around I took Dean seriously,"

Jon looked at him a little open-mouthed. "Dean really did that?"

"Oh, yeah." Bejen laughed. "He was ten the first time that he desworded me. You and Robb should be grateful to have someone with Dean's skill around the guard you," he clapped Jon on the shoulder, "he's the best at what he does, loyalty and honour are the blood in his veins. The Wall really missed out on him—you too Jon."

"Wha—"

"Look, Jon. I'm sorry to have to cut this short, but I got to talk with your father about a few things before I leave." Benjen said.

"What? Your leaving?" Jon asked, but they'd just starting talking!

"On the morrow." His hand rested on the hilt of his sword tucked away in his black fur cloak. "Find me before then so we can talk some more, okay, Jon?"

"Yeah," Jon nodded.

Benjen left in the same direction that Dean had gone and Jon was left alone to the sounds of swordplay coming from the practice yard, just reminding him again how he wasn't wanted around. He sighed and took a different path than Dean and Benjen, away from the practice yard and loneliness it made him feel and thought. He thought about what Benjen had asked him before he left, about the last thing that Dean has said up in the covered bridge, about how close Dean and Benjen seemed to be.

Jon never thought he'd say this, but he needed to find Dean, he needed to get some answers. And even though he didn't know it, he could feel that there was a time crunch that he was under.

**xHx**

Jon hadn't seen Dean since his and Benjen's talk by the practice yard, but had finally found the shield later after another sup that he was not invited to with the royal family, in the Winterfell guards bathhouse.

This bathhouse was smaller than public one, it housed only three stone tubs that could hold up to five men each. Winterfell had been built over a natural hot spring, the sole reason why every person who lived there was in possession of all their digits; and the bath house had been placed accordingly. It was always steaming, the floor slick with condensation. Clothes and weapons were left in the front room and the main room had the tubs with benches lining the wall.

Jon came through, fully clothes, his boots thunking on the floor. Moisture clung to his face and neck and he swiped at it uselessly as he passed the first two tubs with their five men and stopped at the last which Dean souly occupied.

"Either get in or get out, Jon—you're in the way."

That last comment hit Jon in a way that he wasn't quiet expecting. He gritted his teeth and glared down at Dean who had wedged himself in the corner of the tub, his arms stretched out on the ledges to support his slumped figure nearly chin deep in the steaming water, his eyes closed. Jon had little other choice, if he stayed in here much longer with all his furs, he was sure to pass out, and he wanted answers.

He turned from Dean and went back into the front room. He found Dean's own clothing and after he striped naked from his own, hung his next to the young man's. He came back into the main room, passing the other tubs once more and slipped into the steaming tub of water at the opposite end from Dean.

"Uncle Benjen said that you would always challenge him to a sword fight whenever he came back to Winterfell from the Wall, when you were a young boy." Jon said, and he didn't know why. He came here to drill Dean for answers and instead he was trying to make idle conversation. What was wrong with him?

Dean gave a light snort though, and smirked. "He told you that, huh?"

"Yeah."

Dean's eyes cracked open. "The first time I confronted him, It was six months after my father's death, he didn't take me seriously, but I was so I gave him a scar so he'd remember never to do it again—and he hasn't."

Jon laughed. "You were barely even five."

"That wasn't the last scar either, but he gave me a couple in return too—but _only_ a couple. So, Jon, what wisdom do you seek?"

Jon sent him a glower. "Answers, Dean, not wisdom."

"Fine, I guess I can give you some answers. You caught me in a very relaxed mood, so make it count." Dean said.

"What did you mean when you said: _out of sight sometimes really means out of mind_?" Jon asked. If he had limited questions then he wasn't going to pull punches while he had that chance.

"I meant what it means."

"Don't pretend to be coy."

"Fine." Dean pulled himself up straight in the tub, the level water leaving him chin and coming down to his armpits. "You take something from your sight, and eventually you forget about it, or at least the memories become less prominent."

Jon thought about that for a moment. "You're talking about running away."

Dean's green eyes hardened for a brief moment. "I never run away. And that was _**not**_what I was saying, Jon."

"Then what?"

"Runaway means escaping from something harmful, what I'm talking about is moving on, Jon. _Move on._"

"Move onto what?"

"Jon... next question."

"I just asked you one!"

"Now who's the one being coy?" Dean muttered.

Jon sighed. "Before Uncle Benjen left to speak with lord father, he said: The Wall missed out on having you and me." He remembered.

"Good memory."

"How would you know?"

"Come on, next question."

Jon gave him a look but asked his next question—the biggest one of all, the one he was most nervous about knowing the answer. "Was—was Benjen suggesting that I join the Night's Watch?"

Dean smirked. "You forgot to say in-his-secret-hint-hint-sentences."

"Right! Like that comment about Ghost making friends with the other direwolves Beyond the Wall." Jon paused as he realized just what Dean was saying. "Is that a yes?"

Dean rolled his eyes and pushed himself to his feet. The water sloshed in the tub and ran down his skin, the water level now coming to below his hips. "Jon, that's exactly what Benjen was saying, what I'm saying."

"Because I'm a bastard and in the way." Jon said grimely, standing up in the steaming water as well and looked at Dean.

"No." Dean hopped up onto the ledge and grabbed a towel from the bench and started to dry the droplets of water from his slick skin. "Because you're good, Jon. You know how to fight, you're smart and sharp. You could be doing something on the Wall, _be_ something. How many times have you thought_ I'm-not-going-to-be-Lord-of-Anything?_ Well, at the Wall, being a bastard doesn't mean anything there, it doesn't define who you are. Think about it, Jon. Think about who you want to be, what you want to become." And Dean left the younger boy standing there.

Jon plunked back down in the steaming water, splashing water and leaned back against the tub wall, lost in his thoughts. Was this it, was this his answer?

**xHx**

He didn't talk to Dean after that, he only ever saw the Winchester shadowing Robb like it should be. Jon had found his answer in the steaming tub where Dean had left him. It had always been in front of him, but for some reason he refused to see it. Now, he knew it was because he was scared. Scared to leave the only place he had known, the only home he had ever had with the only family he would ever have; Winterfell. He always asked after the Wall and Night's Watch from Uncle Benjen whenever the Stark visited the castle, and it was then that he remembered all the previous hints that Benjen had always inserted into their conversations. He must've thought Jon was simple-minded and decided to say what he meant straight out.

After he had left the guard bathhouse, he went straight back to his bedchamber's in the Great Keep with other Starks, and thought more on the Night's Watch and Winterfell and himself. In the morn he rose with the sun, his mind completely and un-regrettably made up.

He was going to ask his father if he might get leave to join the Night's Watch, and journey with Benjen on his trip back to the Wall this midday.

On his way to the kitchens to break his fast, he ran into Benjen and the opportunity presented itself to him.

"Jon. We never got to talk about what I said earlier." Benjen said, stopping the boy in the hall.

"Yes, Uncle. I've been thinking about what you said." Jon nodded, taking a deep breath. He supposed that maybe it was better that he brought it up with Benjen first, so when he spoke with his father he would have the ranger's support in the matter, making Ned more inclined to let Jon leave. "I want to go with you when you leave, I want to join the Night's Watch."

"Jon..." Benjen ran his fingers through his loose black hair. "I did not mean to place pressure on you last—"

"You didn't!" Jon told him. "I—I was scared," he admitted, glancing away in embarrassment. "This is the only place I've ever known my whole life, I've only ever left that castle for wolfswood. But I'm not a boy anymore, I can fight, I want to do something with my life. I want to become a ranger like you, patrolling the Wall, protecting the realm. I want to move on from this place, to be something more than a bastard." He said passionately.

Benjen gave him a long look. "The Night's Watch isn't a way-station, Jon. It's a one way stop. Do you realize what you are asking? The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is our duty, our mistress honour."

"I _do_ know," Jon insisted. "I am ready to take your oath."

"You say you aren't a boy any longer," Benjen said, "but you're not a man, not yet. Until you've had a woman, you cannot know what you would be giving up."

"Not of that matters to me. I could not father a bastard of my own for him to be treated unworthy to even breathe over something that he cannot control. I have already been dealt my hand, and I except that so I will make of it what I can."

"Alright, Jon, alright. I will speak with your father," Benjen clapped the young man on the shoulder and gave it a squeeze then continued on down the hall.

Jon could feel a weight lifting off his shoulders. He was doing what Dean has suggested, he was moving on.

**xHx**

Ned had called Jon to his solar an hour after the boy had finished speaking with Benjen. He was feeling nervous, but swallowed down the emotion. Whatever his father's decision, he would not react to it like a boy—this was only the path of his life.

As he came down the hall to the chambers, Robb was coming out, Dean at his side. As the half-brothers passed, Robb gave the other boy a smile, albeit a forced one and Dean left him with a knowing look. Jon felt a spark of uneasiness inside of him, but buried it. He needed to focus on this right now.

His father's solar felt like a foreign place to Jon, even though he had been in the room before—but it had never been just him alone, Robb or Arya had always been present.

"Jon," Ned said, seated behind his great oak desk, "Benjen spoke with me about you going to the Wall with him when he left. Is this true?"

"Yes, it is, Father." Jon nodded. "I wish to join the Night's Watch."

"This is rather sudden, Jon. I'm not sure you should make this decision right now, with Benjen leaving before midday today."

"But it's not sudden." Jon disagreed rather than protested; _a man not a boy_, he told himself. "We've spoken of it before. I am seventeen now, a man by rights. I wish to serve on the Wall, be a protector of the realm."

Ned stood from his chair and slowly walked around the desk until he was standing in front of his son. "The Wall is a harsh place for any man, let alone a young one. These are harsh times, Jon. This path will be cruel."

"No more cruel than it is now." The black-haired young man said evenly.

Ned stepped to the window and gazed out into the mourning sky, clear and blue, thoughtful. After a long moment he sighed and turned back to his son. "Very well, you may go with your Uncle Benjen to the Wall and become a member of the Night's Watch."

"Really?" Jon dared believe. Relief, excitement, and sadness going through him at the same time.

"Yes," Ned nodded. "This is what you wanted, is it not?"

"Oh, yes. Very much, Father. Thank you!" Jon smiled.

The Lord of Winterfell stepped up to his bastard son and gave him a warm and strong hug. "Jon, I'm proud of you." Ned murmured in his ear.

Jon heart lodged in his throat and he had to swallow several times before he could speak. "I won't let you down, Father." They released each other. "I promise."

"I know you won't, Jon. I know you won't." Ned gave his shoulder a squeeze and turned back to the lit hearth. "Make sure to say goodbye to all your siblings before you leave with Benjen."

"I will," he promised, and left his father's solar.

Benjen would be leaving for the Wall again before midday came, Winterfell giving him four men, a bastard, twenty horses and a cage of ravens from Maester Luwin.

He said his farewells to the little ones first, Rickon and Bran; Arya cried when he told her, tears both sad and angry, but after giving her the present he had gotten her for her nameday (that he wouldn't have the chance to give her now that he was leaving) she had calmed down. And then found his rival and best-friend Robb.

"Robb,"

Robb sighed. "I heard you're leaving."

"I am, bound for the Wall with Uncle Benjen." Jon told him, nodding.

"I always knew this day would come. You always spoke of it when we were boys, but then you stopped so I thought you might stay in Winterfell."

"You know I was not meant to stay in Winterfell, but I will remember it as my first home, with my first brothers. Robb, I just want to say..."

"You don't have to, Jon. I already know and feel the same." Robb pulled Jon to him and embraced him fiercely.

Jon hugged him back. "Take care of yourself and the others, would you?"

"I will, as long as you take care of yourself."

"Ghost will have my back."

They pulled apart and looked at each other a little awkwardly.

"Have you seen Dean, I wished to speak with him before I left." Jon finally said.

Surprise crossed the Stark's expression. "Oh? What for?"

"To thank him." Jon admitted.

An odd expression flashed across Robb's face and then hid it away. "Sorry, he disappeared after we left father's solar, I haven't seen him since."

"Oh. I suppose I'll find him the next time I come to Winterfell. Uncle Benjen's waiting for me at the stables."

"Goodbye, Jon."

"Farewell, Robb."

Robb watched him go, biting the inside of his lip so as not to blurt anything.

Jon couldn't help but feel disappointed as he mounted a gelding from the stables, and rode out of Winterfell next to his uncle for the first time, Ghost shadowing him. He wished that he could have spoken with Dean before he left because without the annoying and insistent Winchester, he never would have been able to move on, to try and escape from the shadow of being a lowborn bastard.

He spoke with no one other than Benjen on their travel. When he had been younger, he had thought of the Night's Watch was a noble cause, where brave knights went to help protect the realm from creatures like white walkers, wights, and giants; but as he got older he realized it had become the midden heap where all the misfits of the realm went—the thieves, killers, rapers, poachers etc. But then there were men like Benjen who volunteered and weren't forced to choose between death and brotherhood, and that was why Jon still believed it a noble cause to become a ranger on the Wall.

It wasn't until a fortnight into their travel up the Kingsroad to the Wall that Jon spoke with another young man that had left Winterfell with them to join the Night's Watch like him. The young man wore a black, thickly furred, hooded cloak in preparation for the Wall, it wasn't expensive but it wasn't ragged either like all the others. Jon couldn't tell whether the man had volunteered or chose it over losing a hand or losing a head.

He sat next to the man at one of the two fires that were lit, huddling in his own fur cloak.

"So..." but he was unsure how to proceed. He felt awkward and nervous.

"Don't be shy," the man said, his voice deep and rough.

A shiver of surprise went through the boy, the sound of the man's voice almost familiar, just like it's tone. He looked at the man next to him with narrowed eyes, but even with the fire all Jon could see was the cloak's hood.

Jon straightened his shoulders. "Did you volunteer?" He asked boldly.

"Yes. And you—Everybody knows you, boy, Stark's bastard. Going to the Wall to make something of yourself?" He chuckled.

Jon burned with anger. "That's not it at all."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I'm going to the Wall so that I can protect the people of Westeros from the wildlings and creatures of the Beyond, to do my part." Jon told him, not liking the insinuation.

"So noble," his tone sounded mocking.

"What about you?" Jon demanded. "Why did you volunteer? Who are you, what's your name?"

"I'm just a lowly shield, is all." The man reach up and pulled his hood down.

"Dean!" Jon gasped, jumping to his feet in shock as he looked down at the man his face lit in the glow of the flickering fire. "What—I don't understand."

Dean gave him a smile. "What's there to understand?"

"Why—why are you here?!"

"Stop shouting, sit and maybe we'll talk about it." Dean told him turning back to the fire.

Jon sat back down next to him heavily, confusion and shock swimming through him. He watched as Dean picked up a bulging leather skin by his feet and uncorked it. Jon expected to smell a sweet scent of summerwine, but smelled nothing and knew that it was water. Dean took a long drink before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and offered the skin to Jon, who accepted and took a swallow.

Had something happened back at Winterfell to send Dean all the way to find him? But that didn't make any sense. If something was amiss back home and the shield was sent, then he would have talked to Jon and Benjen immediately. Jon got a sick feeling inside the pit of his stomach and couldn't seem to stop it as he started to fill with dread at Dean's next coming words.

"I am going to the Wall to join the Night's Watch." Dean told him.

"What?" Jon muttered, this did not make things clearer.

He the dark-blond gazed into the fire. "I've left Winterfell," he said, but all Jon could was Robb left vulnerable.

"What? How could you abandon Robb like that? Who's going to protect him now that you're not there? A Winchester has always been a shield to the Starks as sure as there always must be a Stark in Winterfell! How could you abandon your duty to Robb like that?" Jon shouted at him.

Dean gave him one of the sharpest looks that the boy was ever to see. "I did _not_ abandon Robb. I did _not_ shirk my duty as a shield. I will always serve the Starks, I will always protect the Starks—on my life, word, and honour I have sworn this duty which I will adhere to until the end of my days."

"The why are you here?" Jon asked again. "Robb is that _way_," he pointed back south down the Kingsroad and back towards Winterfell and the only family that he had. "That way!"

"Jon," Dean grasped the front of his black doublet and pulled the boy close so that they were nearly nose to nose. "I know _exactly_ where Lord Robb is, never doubt that for a second. You need to listen and understand, understand?"

After Jon gave a jerky nod and the shield released him. Snow was wide-eyed as he sat back and straightened his clothing, but he stayed silent.

"Good." He murmured. "Now, Robb is as safe as he's going to be back in Winterfell. By joining the Night's Watch, I am doing my duty."

"How?" Jon gasped a little.

"By serving the realm."

"I still don't understand how you could just abandon Robb like this, Winterfell, who's going to protect him now that you're gone? What about when he becomes Lord of Winterfell, he'll need you then, if not now." Jon told him.

"I know," Dean agreed, and sighed. "I'll worry when that time comes, but right now, I have a different duty."

"To serve the realm?"

Dean ignored the question. "Have you ever noticed that there appears to be no rhyme or reason to my protection between you and Robb, how random it looks?" Jon nodded, he had noticed that, the appearance of Dean at either of their sides at odd intervals through the day. "Well it's not random, I can assure you. I go between the two of you where I'm needed most."

"But you never _had_ to protect us,"

Dean snorted. "Do you think that all I am is an obstacle between you and an enemy soldier?"

Jon wasn't sure how to answer that because truth be told, that's all he thought Dean was before but now his feelings towards Dean lately had been in a general upheaval.

Dean shook his head. "For seventeen years, neither you nor Robb had been physically attacked, but I was always with you when you needed someone the most, wasn't I? Just think back to before we left Winterfell, I was with you most that time, wasn't I. I am more than just a shield, Jon. I told you, I serve the Starks, I will always protect the Starks."

Jon shook his head, his eyes shadowing. "I am nothing but a b—"

"Ned Stark is your father, his blood flows through your veins as sure as it does Robb's, I serve the Starks, I shield the Starks—I protect _you_, Jon!" Dean told him fiercely.

Jon was over whelmed by emotion. "Did—Did my father—did he order you to come?"

"After you told Benjen that you wanted to take the black and he told your father, Lord Eddard called on Robb—and me as well—to tell us about your decision. He asked what I thought about the whole thing, having been with you your whole life, I told him the truth. You are better than the name bastard, though you are called Snow, you are a Stark; going to the Wall, though hard, might be the best thing for you. At Winterfell you were a caged-wolf and at the Wall you could roam free. After speaking for a bit longer, I asked Robb what he thought, and he agreed with my decision." Dean took another drink from the skin before he recorked it. "I told Lord Eddard that I wished to go to the Wall as well, that my duties were best served there. Your father accepted that this would be for the best."

Jon looked at him agape as he listened, but then he closed his lips. "I am not a child!" he protested. "I am seventeen, a man grown. I do not need a wet nurse to shield me. You should go back now, back to Winterfell, back to shielding Robb, and tell my father that I can take care of myself!"

"I will not speak on that wet nurse comment," Dean said evenly, his voice hard. "I am _not _turning back, I _will_ join the Night's Watch, and he _knows_ you can take care of yourself."

He didn't want to hear anymore. Jon stood, gritting his teeth and glared. "I don't wish to speak with you any longer." And he turned away from the shield and went to find his Uncle, he needed to know if the older man knew of this.

Jon found the ranger at the edge of their campsite, keeping an eye so that the men who chose the Wall against punishment did not try and steal a horse and make a run for it.

"Uncle?"

"Ah, Jon. Why are you not yet abed? We leave at daybreak." Benjen said as his nephew stepped up to his side.

"I discovered a secret," Jon told him. Benjen looked at him curiously. "Did you know that Dean was travelling with us? That he planned to take the black?" He asked the man directly.

Benjen's brows raised in surprise for a moment before settling back at their regular level. "Yes."

"What? Why did you not try and stop him?"

"Have you met the lad?" Benjen turned back towards the perimeter. "No. I tried to get him to stay at Robb's side, I told him that I would look after you, see that you got on at the Wall, but he insisted. He said that you were a Stark and the Starks were always protected by the Winchesters. He made me not tell you until it was too late to try and force him back to Winterfell and Robb."

"He's being stupid," Jon insisted. "I can take care of myself. If I need his protection, then how can I prove to myself that I am man enough to become a ranger in the Night's Watch?"

"I believe, Jon," Benjen chuckled lightly, "that Dean is acting more a friend than master-at-arms."

Jon's lips were tight as he turned away from his Uncle and went to find a place to make bed. So many things were going through his mind, emotions and thoughts, he couldn't seem to make any sense of them. He just needed to be alone, to sort through it all. Over the next fortnight, he spoke no word to Dean and barely any to Benjen.

And then they finally arrived at the Wall.

**xHx -some time has lapsed- xHx**

The chilled breeze of the ever approaching winter caressed Jon's pale cheeks like a lover, but he did not turn his face away or tuck it in the folds of his fur cloak, instead he turned his face into it, letting the cold burn the back of his throat as he breathed. Despite it being summer, winter was always whispering through in the North, lurking in the shadows of the sun with its summer snowfalls and howling winds—and at the Wall it was always cold, always winter.

But the young man was a Northman, the winter and the cold flew through his veins. He did not fear winter, he was born in the cold. But it was always winter here, Beyond the Wall. He had never known true cold until he came to the Wall where in next to a fire even there was no reprieve from the great howling winds that buffered the Wall day and night. The spirit summer was coming to a close, winter was coming.

He had made up with Dean four fortnights back, deciding it was harder to not talk with the former shield, than it was. Jon was quite happy to have Dean around though, despite how annoying he could be—maybe because he was right _all the time_. There was also another recruit that came to the Wall half a fortnight after he and Dean arrived. He was a portly boy the same age as Jon named Sam—much to Dean's chagrin, reminding him every time of the only blood family that he had left behind at Winterfell—who could hardly hold a sword in his hand but was rather expert with script and parchment. Jon had taken the gentle fellow under his wing and Dean's by relationship.

Dean was a natural shield anyways, he thrived when he had multiple wards to protect—and Sam needed all the protection that he could get.

"Do you _want_ to catch a cold, Lord Snow?" Dean murmured in his ear.

Jon's only reaction was a puff of white breath exhaled sharply. "Do you wish for me to fall off the Wall?"

Dean grinned, standing next to him. "Now, why would I wish for something like that?"

Jon glanced at the other askance. "That's why I asked."

"Hah! I suppose you're right, that still doesn't mean I'm going to tell you."

"It's common courteousy to tell a man why you wish to kill before you do."

"Maybe... it might be more satisfying."

"So, do you swear to inform me of the reason if ever you come across the time to feel you have to kill me?"

"Your very calm while talking about my killing you, so yes, I will tell you the reason before I take you from this world." He said intensely.

Now Jon looked at him fully, his face long and serious as ever. "That's all I ask."

Dean looked back for a moment, his expression the same before he couldn't hold it any longer and burst out laughing, clapping Jon on the shoulder. "Never a dull moment with you, Jon!"

Jon gave a small smile in response before he turned back to watching the Beyond for the remainder of his watch. "Why did you come up, Dean? I know you like to talk, but I know Sam would have been an easier target, so?"

"Oh, Jon, you wound me. Sam's too easy a target and isn't your company enough? Why do I need any motive? When have I _ever _had an ulterior motive?"

Jon looked at him. "Oh, I don't know..." his expression darkened, "You remember that time when my father sent you to the Wall as a _guard?"_

"Lord Eddard didn't send me, I came out of my violation." Dean's jaw clenched and he looked away, "I know why you take it as an insult, but I was raised to be just that for you and Robb." He looked back, his voice softer, "He cares for you like any of his trueborn sons."

Jon turned silently away from him. "You should have stayed at Winterfell to protect Robb, not me."

Dean narrowed his green eyes. "You wish for me to leave? You know I can't, I took the vows at the heart tree alongside you, I am a sworn brother and would be claimed deserter."

"I know. You shouldn't have let it gone that far."

"I didn't _let it go_ anywhere! This isn't just about duty, Jon. Do you think I would have just left Sammy to squire for Robb back at Winterfell if I had? I care for you, like I do for Sammy—and you know that's no joke—and I trust Robb with his life like Lord Eddard entrusted me with yours. Our titles from South of the Wall might be gone in name, but those bonds still lie between us."

Jon continued to look out Beyond the Wall, down and down, out and father out still, the Haunted Wood's tree line encroaching on the wall, the rest of the trees disappearing into the thick white fog that always seemed ever present two-hundred or so yards into the wood, as he listened to Dean's words. The other young man was always tight-mouthed about his personal feelings, as much as Jon was, but all of Winterfell knew that Sammy was the most precious thing to him, that he would kill all the Kings and Queens and their armies in Westeros if it meant keeping that boy safe from harm—there wasn't any lengths that the former personal-guard turned crow wouldn't do it for him.

Despite his ego at being a man, he knew that Ned never meant to insult him, but to ensure that he survived, and that was why he loved his father and would always be grateful towards Dean even though that was why he had taken the vows. Dean was the only one on the Wall who had known him before he became a crow, knew the his half-siblings like he did now that Benjen had gone ranging Beyond the Wall and hadn't come back after four fortnights now, Lord Commander Mormont had presumed him to be dead after such a long absence.

Jon looked at Dean and nodded his acceptance, it was about time he laid those wounded feelings aside, and asked, "So, what did you really come up here for, Dean?"

Dean gave him a brief smile as he put his arm around Jon's fur layered shoulders and held him firm before his face turned serious. "Lord Commander Mormont send me up to take over your watch."

"What? Why?"

"He wants to speak with you."

Jon dark brows were furrowed. "That doesn't sound good."

"Maybe," Dean agreed, gazing across the Beyond. "But Sam told me something interesting about it."

"He did? What did he say?" Jon asked.

Dean smirked. "He heard Mormont talkin' with Maester Aemon earlier this week when he served them their dinner about you."

"Me?" Jon grew nervous.

"Yeah, about making you his personal steward." Dean glanced over at him waiting for his reaction.

"Steward?!" Jon exclaimed in dismay and anger. "Why? I am one of the best fighters in the Night's Watch out of the newest recruits. I'd be of more use with a sword in my hand than a serving tray. Why?!"

Dean shrugged in sympathy. "Sam told me somethin' else too."

Jon's shoulders slumped. "Yeah? And what was that?"

"That a crow skilled like you with a sword would only become a personal steward to the Lord Commander for one reason and one reason only."

Jon looked at him. "If you don't tell me this instant, I am going to push you off the edge." There was nothing joking in his tone or his dark eyes.

Dean chuckled at the threat. "He's gonna _groom _you... to become his _successor_."

"His successor?"

"Okay, are you just going to repeat everything I say?"

"I am not." He took a deep breath. "That matters not." Jon shrugged off Dean's arm and turned from the ledge.

"Just think of it this way," Dean called after him, "You always said you were never going to be Lord of Anything like Robb because you're a Snow, but that long ago prediction might turn sour grapes into ripe fruit!"

Jon disappeared from his view in a flurry of cold wind and white snow. Though there was also that deep feeling of jealousy that he might always feel towards his sibling because they were trueborns and he was baseborn, that wasn't what he cared about anymore, he loved each of them without reserve. Ned had sent a personal guard with him that was trained to be a knight for Robb when he became Lord of Winterfell, and that was all the Jon needed to know. He didn't _need_ to be Lord of Anything, he just needed to have a purpose in life and that was what Night's Watch did for him—of course he'd rather be a ranger than a steward but sometimes you didn't get to choose your road yourself and still ended up at the castle you wanted.

**xHx**

Jon was in a daze when he finally left Lord Commander Mormont's solar. He couldn't believe it. The matter of being made a steward did not matter any longer, not after what Mormont had told him the contents of a bird he had received. The King, Father, Robb—he had been gone from Winterfell for hardly half a year and disaster had struck. He couldn't believe, it was just too unbelievable. Eddard Stark was one of the few true honourable men left in the realm, a list that had gotten short since the death of Jon Arryn, Jon's namesake.

He found himself in his sleep cell, sitting on the small bench along the wall lost, Ghost the only familiar thing in his shattering world. He heard his door bang open and closed, and Dean was standing in front of him, a little breathless from the run up the tower stair.

"Jon, I've been looking for you for hours, you never came back to the post on the Wall to tell me what happened." Dean looked down at the dark-haired boy, and saw the lost expression. "Jon? I know that being made a steward was not what you wanted when you joined the Night's Watch, but this might not be such a bad thing."

"My father—he is—he's being held under King's Landing and branded traitor." Jon gasped, hardly able to voice the words.

Dean looked at him sharply. "What did you say?"

Jon looked at him. "The King is dead. Killed in a hunting accident. The message said that my father banded with Robert's brothers to deny Joffrey the iron throne. In response, Robb's called Winterfell's bannermen."

"Jon," Dean put a hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezed. "What do you mean to do?"

"This is your fault, Dean!" He felt tears behind his eyes, the emotion welling inside of him, the dam ready to burst apart. He felt guilty even as he spoke it because it was not the truth and they both knew it. He needed to lash out at something and Dean was the only target. "If you had stayed with him like you should have, then none of this would have happened."

Dean sigh softly and sat down on the bench next to Jon. He did not get angry at the accusation. "My leaving has nothing to do with Lord Eddard's imprisonment, nor Robb calling the banners. You need to calm yourself. Now tell me what you mean to do."

Ghost pressed himself against Jon's legs, the boy's hands buried in the thick white fur. "What—what else am I supposed to do?" he blurted, "I _have_ to go to him. I have to help Robb save our father,"

"If you leave the Night's Watch, Jon, no matter the reason, you will be named deserter and hunted for the rest of your life. You can not make a decision like this overwhelmed with grief and confusion. But if you did leave—"

"Would you stop me?" Jon asked, wiping a gloved hand over his face, clearing his eyes.

"No." Dean said softly. "I would join you."

Jon looked over at him in surprise. "You—"

"I said the vows of the Night's Watch, but I will always serve the Starks. Jon, you are my friend, I care for you and your family, not just as my duty. I would feel better if you did not try and do it. But if you ask it of me, I will go to Robb."

"If you do that, then you're the one who will be considered a deserter. They kill you just as they would me." Jon said.

"I could evade them. With everything that is happening, one deserted won't matter." Dean replied.

Jon looked at the man next to him in awe. Dean was a true man, an honourable man. The kind of man that Jon himself inspired to be, like Ned. He knew his father was not a traitor. If he was being imprisoned, it was because he was trying to do right by Robert and the Lanniseter's didn't like that. "I love my father. I love Robb. And I want to help him." As much as Jon wanted to ask this of Dean, he knew that could not and would not. He could not discolour Dean's honour with the title deserter—Dean would never abandon Jon, he was no craven.

"Robb is smart, he knows what he's doing. He's the Lord of Winterfell now and he will do what it takes to get father and my sisters back to the North alive and where they belong. He will succeed, I know he will." Jon whispered fiercely, rubbing Ghost's velvet ears.

"I believe that as well; Robb can hold his own." Dean wrapped an arm around Jon's shoulders. "This was one of the hardest things that you've had to do, Jon. Family or keeping your vow. You've made the right choice, your father would be proud, as am I."

"Dean..." Jon swallowed and looked over at the young man who had taken the black for him. "Thank you, I realized this must be hard for you as well, so thank you."

Dean patted his shoulder and smiled. "It's what brothers do."

Jon nodded and went back to petting Ghost, the direwolf's head resting on his leg as he gazed up at his master with eyes that gleamed with sympathy and support. He murmured, remembering his vow, his promise,

"_Now my Watch begins,_

_It shall not end until my death._

_I shall live and die at my post,_

_I am a sword in the darkness,_

_The watcher on the walls._

_I aim the fire that burns against the cold,_

_The light that brings the dawn,_

_The horn that wakes the sleepers,_

_The shield that guards the realms of men._

_I pledge my life and honour to the Nights Watch._

_For this night and all the nights to come."_

Jon was a crow now, and that vow meant something to him. He would honour it whether he was a ranger or a steward, it mattered not. He would stay and he would fight. He had Dean and Sam and Ghost along side him, these were his brothers now. He wasn't a bastard, but a black brother. He would pray to the old gods and the new, pray for Robb's safety and the return of his father and sisters, but he would stay at the Wall to fight his own fight.

_-the end-_

**********Game/of/Thrones**********  
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**Note:**

**Whew! So? Tell me, tell me what you think. This ended up longer than I intended it to be, but I like it better. I started off writing the part about Jon and Dean on the Wall talking about killing each other, and I built the fic around that. Dean is very insightful and conversational, but I hope that his charm and caring and jesting nature came through as well. My first time writing for Jon's POV, and though I made him older, I know a little naive and angry, but I hope strong and resilient as well. I plan to write more for THE HUNTER OF THE REALM Universe, I got loads of ideas.**

**Thanks for Reading!**

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